


racing through the city (windows down)

by citadelofswords



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Implied/Referenced Sex, Innuendo, M/M, Morning After, Strawberries, apparently not talking about feelings leads to doing as bunnies do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:06:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citadelofswords/pseuds/citadelofswords
Summary: Still. I’d kind of hoped he’d stay longer than the night. From the looks of things, he’d taken off in a bit of a hurry. I tried to ignore the way my stomach clenched at the implication. This is why I wanted to avoid complicated— why I wanted to avoid him.Funny how life works against what you want for your own good sometimes.  (or, a morning after.)





	racing through the city (windows down)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [you look so seattle (but you feel so hyperion city)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8041894) by [badskeletonpuns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskeletonpuns/pseuds/badskeletonpuns). 



> Completely, totally unbeta'd. Written in like an hour. Title from Bang the Doldrums by Fall Out Boy. [Partially inspired by a text post.](http://citadelofswords.tumblr.com/post/150505537887/crossroadswrite-idk-about-you-but-im-a-sucker)
> 
> This was not supposed to be as long as it ended up.

When you’re in my line of work, you learn to be aware of your surroundings at all times, even when you’re just waking up. It’s a perfected skill, developed through trial and error. Lots of trial and error.

I’ve been in a lot of fights that I lost.

So when I woke up this morning, there were two things I was immediately aware of. One, the sheets on my bed were too stiff. Two, I didn’t remember the previous night. And three, I had the vague sensation that there was supposed to be someone in this bed with me, but there was no one there.

You’d panic too if you had three thoughts that contradicted each other like that. I promptly rolled off the bed and fell onto the floor, waking all the way up instantly.

From the floor I realized that I was not at home— I was in a motel room, somewhere outside of Oldtown. Outside, it was still dark, and the little clock next to the bed told me it was almost five in the morning. The memories of the previous night flooded back to me and I covered my face with my hands as I remembered. Nureyev in the parking lot. The confrontation. Us kissing, going from angry to desperate in point two seconds flat. The feeling of his hands where my shirt had been riding up at my hips— I covered my face at the memory of him sinking to his knees right there in that alleyway, saying to me, “I can’t wait that long, Juno,” before swallowing me like it was nothing at all.

So we’d slept together. Multiples times. One night without any crazy Martian artifacts or rogue thieves trying to kill me. One night where we left life behind for a while. That what he’d asked me for. That’s what I wanted.

Still. I’d kind of hoped he’d stay longer than the night. From the looks of things, he’d taken off in a bit of a hurry. I tried to ignore the way my stomach clenched at the implication. This is why I wanted to avoid complicated— why I wanted to avoid him.

Funny how life works against what you want for your own good sometimes.

I managed to struggle to my feet and make my way to the tiny bathroom. When the light finally flickered on, I was greeted with an image of myself that looked, well, the only word for it was _wrecked_. My hair stuck up unevenly; there were a number of fairly impressive bruises just under my jaw that nothing but makeup would be able to hide. Gritting my teeth, I yanked the knobs on the sink to splash some water onto my face. Not that it would help much, but it would make me feel better at least.

It was at that moment that I heard the door to the room shut. I went reaching for my gun and realized that I didn’t have it at the very moment that I heard a voice call out, “Juno?”

I stuck my head out the door to the bathroom. Sure enough, there was Nureyev, who I was pleased to see only looked a little more put together than I did. He was shamelessly displaying the marks I’d left on him the previous night above his rumpled collar; in his hands were what looked like takeout boxes.

“Nureyev?” I asked. “You— you came back.”

“Of course I did,” Nureyev said, a little tetchily. “I said so in my note, didn’t I?”

“What?” Nureyev nodded to my arm. When I looked down, there were scrawled red symbols I hadn’t noticed before. “Oh.”

“You skipped straight to panic mode, didn’t you,” Nureyev said, and settled himself on the bed. “Come here. I brought breakfast.”

“At this hour?”

“It is _technically_ morning.” Nureyev smiled. “Come sit and eat.”

“Where did you get this?” I asked, but I went to him and sat next to him anyway. In the boxes were mountains of bacon, pancakes, and what smelled like Oldtown specialty hashbrowns— just about the only good thing left about Oldtown.

“We passed a diner last night, oh, about five minutes after we started driving.” I didn’t remember that. I did remember refusing to look anywhere other than the road until Nureyev breathlessly asked me to pull over and then yanked me into the backseat. “It looked like it would have delicious food, so I went ahead and ordered us some breakfast. Mm, the waitress gave me some fresh strawberries as well, would you like some?”

Would I. Fresh fruit was getting harder and harder to come by on Mars. “How on earth did she just give this to you?”

“Well, I can’t be certain, but she did spot these and wink at me,” Nureyev said, gesturing to his neck. He thrust the takeout container at me. “Help yourself, love.”

I took the box and picked the reddest, fattest strawberry. I took a bite of it, and I must have made some kind of noise because Nureyev’s eyes snapped up and stared at me. I raised one eyebrow at him. What could I say? It had been years since the last time I’d had a strawberry, and it tasted _amazing_.

“I can’t believe you picked the restaurant because you thought it looked like the food would be good.” I said, taking another strawberry.

“Well, do you think I made the wrong choice?” Nureyev asked, holding out a slice of bacon to me like a weapon.

“No, but I also wouldn’t say that it was a viable way of making decisions. I mean, when else has ‘It looked like it would taste good’ worked out in your favor?”

“When I was a child, admittedly, not often,” Nureyev said, “but I didn’t hear you complaining last night.” Oh dear lord. “You walked right into that one, love.”

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I,” I muttered, and popped another strawberry in my mouth. When I glanced up, Nureyev was watching me swallow, eyes dark, but when we made eye contact he hurriedly picked up more bacon.

“I would have made breakfast,” he told me, a few minutes later, cutting delicately into a stack of pancakes that had far too much chocolate on it to be healthy, “But we never made it back to your place.”

“You were the one who told me to check in here,” I pointed out. We almost hadn’t even made it into the room, since Nureyev had slid his hand into the back pocket of my pants while I was checking in.

“And I regret nothing about that decision,” Nureyev promised. I took another bite of strawberry and reached over to steal a mouthful of pancake. When I drew back, Nureyev was staring at the corner of my mouth, and this time he didn’t look away.

“Do I have something on my face?” I asked, and instinctively reached up to swipe at it. Nureyev, however, caught my hand and examined it. With a jolt, I realized my hands were stained from eating so many strawberries, and I smirked. “Hah. Looks like you caught me red-handed.”

Nureyev smiled, and then did exactly what I was expecting him to do and sucked the tip of my pointer finger into his mouth, licking off the strawberry juice.

“Nureyev,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“It’s still night, Juno,” Nureyev said, still holding my hand in both of his. Like this, it felt almost intimate. Gentle. _Complicated_.

“Just a few minutes ago, you said it was morning.”

Nureyev smiled. “Semantics, dearest. But it’s your call.”

I took a deep breath. Oh, what the hell. Maybe it would fall apart once I was back in Hyperion City. Maybe Nureyev would slip up and get arrested, or maybe something bad would happen to one of us while tracking down these Martian artifacts. But this close I could see flecks of gold in Nureyev’s eyes, and his hands were rubbing at the tendons in mine, and to myself, I thought, _Screw complicated._

So I took the rest of his pancakes and those delicious hashbrowns and set them on the table on the other side of the room. When I turned around, Nureyev’s mouth was tilted into that familiar smirk, and he crooked one finger at me.

Screw complicated, _indeed_.

**Author's Note:**

> Darling Wendy, I see your gratuitous Fall Out Boy references and raise you one or two more.
> 
> [send me some prompts or tropes or inspo or something](http://citadelofswords.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
